


Milwaukee

by cable69



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-06
Updated: 2016-01-06
Packaged: 2018-05-12 02:12:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5649865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cable69/pseuds/cable69
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kirk and Spock are at a park, eating ice cream.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Milwaukee

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted on ff.net; unedited

Kirk and Spock are at a park, eating ice cream.

Kirk doesn’t think he understands what is happening. He’s at a park, with his boyfriend, eating ice cream. It’s like he’s in second grade or something. Or heaven. He can’t figure out which, and it’s kind of driving him crazy. Still, he’s not complaining. Especially because he’s managed to get Spock into acceptable human clothing—a Hurley t-shirt and cargo shorts, and oh, those plaid boxers underneath it all. And flip-flops. Spock is wearing fucking flip-flops. Leather ones, from American Eagle. And the bracelet Kirk picked out for him. The hemp one. With the little pooka shell woven into its center.

He looks like a Satanic surfer boy. Kirk is loving this.

“How’s the gelato?” Kirk asks. Spock is eating his cookie dough carefully (He got cookie dough, Kirk thinks, If he gets any more adorable I shall simply burst). He looks up at Kirk, slightly cross-eyed, the little red plastic spoon stuck halfway in his mouth.

“It is very tasty,” Spock says solemnly.

Kirk wants to squee.

They watch a dad and like eighteen billion four to six year old girls chase after a squirrel (that is, the girls chase the squirrel, and the dad chases the girls, and it all ends up in and around a very tall oak that the squirrel perches himself gargoyle-like at the top of and the dad has to yank all eighteen billion four to six year old girls off of the tree by the handful, and damn does that squirrel have a great sense of humor). A bichon frisé dives into the pond, followed shortly by her angry owner. A frog accidentally lands on a robin, who basically has a heart attack, judging by the wing-whacks the poor frog receives. Kirk giggles through most of this.

“The temperature is dropping,” Spock says, placing his empty gelato cup carefully on the rock next to him. (They are nestled up against a smallish hill that overlooks most of the park.) Kirk isn’t watching as Spock disappears from his peripheral; the dad is attempting to get the eighteen billion four to six year old girls back into his Prius-slash-clown car and Kirk is quite amused by their frenzied antics. He shivers unconsciously as a suddenly fierce breeze gnaws around him. And then something very toasty is being draped over him, something cushy and vanilla-scented and thick. He jumps a bit and looks up at Spock, who is wrapping a soft fleece jacket around his shoulders.

Kirk starts to say, “Honey, this is wonderful! Thank you so much. You’re so sweet for thinking to bring a jacket with you,” but goes with, in the end, “Ooh. Warm,” and buries his nose in the sleeves he tucks into his palms. Spock actually chuckles a bit and wraps his arms around Kirk. Spock is just freakishly hot, like an exploding stove, or maybe a game show seat, but really like a small, flesh-encased sun. Kirk leans into him. Spock kisses him on the forehead.

“This is the best shore leave ever,” burbles Kirk. A goddamn bluejay flits onto his shoulder, pipes a bar of song into his left ear, and wings away.

“It is the middle of winter in Milwaukee,” says Spock. “You undoubtedly had a more pleasing time on Gloriosus IV, the beach planet, or Vider, the planet of strip clubs.”

Kirk pouts. “I wasn’t with you when we visited Gloriosus IV, and you refused to go into any of the strip clubs on Vider,” he says. “So, I’m stuck with mid-winter Milwaukee as my number one fave. Don’t complain. This is pretty great. There are birds and shit. And gelato. The ice cream is real important to the libidinous milieu. Or, rather, the sexy atmosphere. ”

“Birds have naturally evolved on many planets—”

“And the lake helps. Ah, ah! Don’t tell me there are lakes on other planets. I know there are lakes on other planets. I’m just saying, this planet’s lakes are particularly spectacular. Even the little ones that are basically seventy-foot puddles with sixty feet of cattail are awesome just because they’re here.”

Spock clearly does not feel like arguing with Kirk at his most illogical. He merely closes his mouth, sits back, and hikes his eyebrows to about midway up his forehead. Kirk leans into his chest, listening for the distant, familiar thump of Spock’s heartbeat.

“I’m so proud that you’re wearing my old clothes,” Kirk grins. Spock gives him a Look.

“You hid my uniform,” Spock says rather petulantly. “I had nothing else to wear.”

“You could have gone starkers.”

“I wished to leave the house, Jim. I had no choice but to accept the apparel forced so unfairly upon me.”

“Oh, sob, sob. There are children wearing Wal-Mart in China, as my mom used to s—mph!”

Spock, once more, is tired of Kirk’s illogical ramblings. He shuts him up with a firm kiss.

After a while, he takes pity on Kirk and draws back. Kirk collapses, rather bonelessly, against the hillside. He is faintly purple. “Mlgh,” he articulates lustily, drawing air into his parched lungs. Spock is not one for moderation, or oxygen.

“Hotel?” says Spock.

“Mmm,” agrees Kirk in a breathless purr.

“Thrusters on full,” says Spock, hefting Kirk into his arms. As Spock runs him down the hillside, Kirk can’t help but make phaser noises, pew-pew-pew-ing at the trees.

Spock really wants to tell Kirk that he’s so damn cute but fucks him stupid back at the hotel room instead, which is the same thing, anyway.

x

[at this point I was about to post it, but then reCAPTCHA said: "demand hiccups." So I thought, why not?]

Kirk hiccuped.

"Excuse me?" said Spock, lowering the New York Times. It was the next morning, and they were sprawled out in bed (or rather, Kirk was sprawled like a unwound Slinky, and Spock was seated, stiff-backed as the Queen).

"Oop. Sorry. The HIC bagel I had for HIC breakfast is getting to HIC me." Kirk pauses. HIC. "How's your HIC paper?"

"What is wrong with your voice?" Spock demands.

"I have the hicHICcups," says Kirk. "Don't Vulcans HIC get hiccups?"

"No—wait. Perhaps I have heard of them. Are they an unfortunate spasming of the diaphragm caused by a large intake of air?"

"Uh. HIC. Yeah?"

"Ah. I know the cure."

"HIC, what—" Suddenly Spock is quite wowingly on top of him. The short little gasps Spock eventually elicits from Kirk calm his twitching interior muscles.

"I should get the hiccups more often," pants Kirk afterwards, a bit embarrassed about getting so much semen on the sheets. He briefly considers having less sex in hotel rooms, and then figures that that’s what hotel rooms are for, and also, Spock (who is a reason unto himself), and decides just to leave a fifty credit tip for the maid.

Spock, who is trying to find the Weekend Arts section (it turns out to be under the mini-bar), merely comments that uncontrolled bodily tics are generally to be avoided and settles back into an armchair.

Kirk starts to reply, but evidently his body isn't quite finished with him. When he opens his mouth, a giant HIC comes out.

Spock, once more, lowers his paper.

"What a HIC shame," crows Kirk, waggling his eyebrows. "Looks like you'll HIC have to cure me again. HIC."

Spock glances downwards, and then back at Kirk.

"It looks as if I am prepared to do so," says Spock, and Kirk thanks every god he can think of for the incredibly short Vulcan refractory period, and, shortly thereafter, for the incredibly long Vulcan anatomy.


End file.
